Beauty in the Broken
by ATTHS
Summary: After a pot breaks, Scully and Mulder deal with the mess and repair what has been broken.


_November 2010 _

Scully looked up at the cupboard and sighed. The red Dutch oven sat on top, precisely where she had asked Mulder _not _to place it. Damn him and his tall physique. He would have no trouble reaching it, but she lacked the extra inches.

"Shit," she whispered and sighed again. She wanted to make a stew and that bastard had set the pot out of her reach.

Turning her head, she looked toward the laundry room knowing she would need to get the step stool, but hating that she had to do it. Dropping her head back, she groaned and walked into the laundry room.

Turning on the light, she moved aside the basket of clothes Mulder promised to fold, and the broom he used to clean up a mug that broke two days ago. Taking the step stool from beside the dryer, she lifted it past the basket, and put the broom in its proper place.

Walking back to the kitchen, she opened the step stool and set it close to the counter. Stepping up onto it, she reached up, her fingertips just brushing the sides of the pot, unable to get a grip on it.

"Whatcha doin'?" Mulder asked from behind her, causing her to jump and grab the cupboard.

"Shit, Mulder!" she exclaimed, turning to look at him, exhaling loudly. "Why do you sneak up on me like that?"

"I'd hardly call it sneaking up when I live here," he replied with a lopsided grin.

"Don't be cute when you've just scared me," she said, turning back to the pot and trying to pull it closer.

"Want some help?"

"No! I am perfectly capable of reaching… a goddamn… pot!" she yelled as the pot still escaped her grasp. "Why the fuck did you put it up here when I asked you not to do so?" She turned to him, anger in her eyes which grew when she saw his wide smile.

"Where else would you like me to put it, Scully? We rarely use that one and we don't exactly have an overabundance of cupboard space." He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

"We use it enough that it should be kept-"

"Where your little arms can reach it?"

She stared at him, narrowing her eyes, before turning back to the pot, trying once more, determined that she would reach it.

"Scully, just move and I'll get it for you."

"No! I don't need you to do that. I can do it myself." She tried again and then stepped barefoot onto the counter, something she would despise anyone else doing, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Her hands slid around the pot and she shouted out triumphantly. Lifting it up, she misjudged the weight and as she made to step back onto the step stool, it slipped from her grasp and she cried out, giving Mulder enough time to step back and out of the way. It crashed to the ground and shattered into thousands of pieces, scattering all over the house.

Neither of them spoke, too in shock to say anything. When the reality of the situation hit, she sighed loudly and he looked up at her.

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone quiet.

"No," she sighed, stepping onto the step stool. "I should have let you get it. I was being stubborn and persistent and…" She started to step down and clean up the mess.

"What are you doing?" he asked, putting his hand up as he stepped towards her. "You're not wearing any shoes. Stay there, I'll be right back." She sat down on the countertop, staring forlornly at the broken bits covering the floor.

Walking out of the room, he returned with a pair of her shoes and the broom and dustpan. Handing her her shoes, he began to pick up the larger broken pieces and put them in a paper bag. She put on her shoes and tied the laces, stepping onto the step stool and then down to the floor.

For the next hour, they picked up glass and swept the floor. Furniture was moved and the vacuum came out, the whole first floor receiving a thorough vacuuming. The mop was used, any final pieces trapped within the fibers.

Mulder took the bag full of broken glass to the garbage bins as she sat down dejectedly at the dining room table. When he came back into the house, he sat beside her and covered her hand with his own.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing lightly as she squeezed back.

"I know, and it's not your fault. Not entirely," she said with a small smile. He laughed and nodded. "I just wanted to make some stew. It sounded good and it's been so cold lately… I don't know."

"We have other pots," he said, rubbing her arm softly.

"No. It works best in the Dutch oven."

"Let's go get something. We'll get changed and go get something delicious," he suggested and she smiled, covering his hand on her arm.

"Changed? But I'm in my comfy beef stew clothes," she pouted and he laughed again.

"Okay. So someplace where we can wear comfy beef stew clothes… how about our couch, and I go get us something?"

"With fries?" she pouted again and he nodded with a smile.

"Whatever you want," he told her, kissing her forehead and standing up. "I'll be back soon." She smiled as she watched him leave, standing up to grab plates and napkins, placing them on the coffee table.

She turned off the lights, lit some candles and opened a bottle of wine, not caring that it would be a simple meal of fast food. Opening the refrigerator, she stared at the ingredients she bought for the stew and shook her head. Maybe tomorrow.

When he returned, they ate on the sofa, sharing fries and onion rings, laughing over the crashing of the Dutch oven, both of them accepting blame. He wiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb, sucking it into his own mouth when he was finished, and her stomach burned with desire.

The candles had burned down low when they finally rose from the couch, far less clothing than when they sat down. Clearing their mess, they finished their wine, blew out the candles, and headed up to bed.

Coming home from the hospital the next evening, Scully stepped inside, tired and shivering as she closed the door. Turning around, she saw a box on the dining room table with a red bow tied around it. Shrugging out of her coat, she smiled as she walked over to the table and untied the ribbon.

It was a brand new Dutch oven. She opened the box and took out the packaging, finding not another red one, but a beautiful green one. Lifting it from the box, she admired the look and the weight of it, smiling as she did.

"I figured green was a better choice, after all clearing up so many broken red pieces," Mulder said, stepping up beside her. Looking up at him, she smiled and nodded.

"I couldn't agree more," she said, setting the pot down and pulling him down for a kiss. "Thank you."

"Hmm," he hummed, kissing her again. "I also happened to see the fixings for that stew you wanted to make and I couldn't let them go to waste." She nodded and smiled as he shrugged her shoulders. "So let's get cooking, baby."

She laughed and nodded again, taking the pot to the sink to wash it as he went to take the food from the refrigerator. Working together, they had the meal prepared and in the oven cooking in hardly any time.

"So, we have about an hour and a half before we add the potatoes. What should we do in the meantime?" he asked, handing her a glass of red wine with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I'm sure we can think of something," she smiled, taking a sip of her wine with a smile.

"I do have an idea. One that I guarantee will be stimulating and when finished… well," he nodded and clucked his tongue. "It will be very pleasurable." She raised her eyebrows, licking her lips, before she bit the bottom one. "Depending on if you win, of course."

"Win?" she asked confused, as thoughts of his naked body evaporated.

"Yeah," he said, reaching for something on a dining room chair. "I challenge you to a game of Scrabble." He showed her the box and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"Oh, Mulder. You know these challenges never end well for you."

"This time it will be different."

"You said that last time… and you lost spectacularly." He shook the box, the tiles and racks hitting against the sides, and he made a _come on_ motion with his hand. "Okay, fine. Go grab the dictionary now because you _know _you're going to challenge me. Medical dictionary too."

"Yes!" he said, setting the game down and heading to grab the dictionaries.

She shook her head with a smile as she sat down, set her glass of wine on the table, and opened the Scrabble box. He quickly joined her, the dictionaries set beside him, as they began to pick their tiles and arrange them on the racks.

Shouting and laughter filled the room, as did the delicious aroma of the meal they prepared together. Losing the first round, he demanded a rematch, and giggling from happiness and the wine she drank, she agreed.

Best out of five, with Scully victorious, the meal finished and the wine long gone, they saved the leftovers and washed the dishes. Drying the Dutch oven, he looked at her and she smiled, looking up at the top of the cupboard with a nod.

With very little effort, he placed it up there, and she shook her head- damn him and his height. Turning around, he pulled her to him.

"Next time you need it, let the tall person with long arms get it for you, okay?" he teased with a smirk.

"You had better take that back," she said, trying to pull away from him as he laughed. "The loser of Scrabble doesn't get to make any demands."

"Fine. Best out of seven?" he asked, tightening his hold on her, as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're on, and you're going to lose."

"Prove it."

He let go of her and they sat down once more. As he shook the bag of letters, she glanced at the Dutch oven, knowing that would be its permanent location.

_But the fight for that knowledge is half the fun_, she thought glancing back at him with a smile as she reached for her tiles, ready to beat him once again.


End file.
